Honor

Even without delicately wafting "snow," a creepy music box intro tune, and clear plastic stretched taut like a window from which models emerged, you'd have been hard-pressed to miss the inherently eerie beauty of Honor's Fall outing. Then again, the staging didn't hurt. Backstage preshow, designer Giovanna Randall cited terrariums and the idea of lovely things trapped beneath glass. The collection, heavy on sixties baby-doll aesthetics, might have made Mary Quant proud; the mod frocks of William Klein's 1966 culty art flick satire Qui êtes-vous, Polly Maggoo? certainly sprang to mind once or twice. Sporting dresses in dreamy plaid organzas and mikados, Honor's Fall woman is a saucer-eyed, romantic beauty—probably a bit troubled around the edges. It came as no shock that the show's styling was courtesy of Leith Clark, former editor in chief of the gauzily filtered Brit biannual Lula. There was a bit of that sensibility here, albeit less sun-bleached; Wednesday Addams' oversize, razor-sharp signature collar made more than one appearance, and swingy little cropped jackets felt surprisingly fresh. About halfway through the show, though, the girl changed. The soundtrack got bigger and brassier, and pastels turned crimson. Swingy frocks went floor-length and gave way to sizable cutouts across the backs that made for bold, appropriately self-possessed exits.

Here and there (particularly around pinks and purples), things started to feel a bit saccharine. Sure, pleats can be sweet, but when proposed in the form of a big collar, big hem, and big cuffs on one little bubblegum-hued dress, it'll take a special brand of girl to carry them off. The lone print, a loud-ish rose, also left quite a bit to be desired. But Randall had a lot of dreamy, delightful winners on her hands here. And they said the Manic Pixie Dream Girl was dead….